I feel like Gustav Flaubert except I did not take 6 years to write this post

I have been debating on whether I should begin blogging once again. I have so much going on: school, work, gym and, occasionally, sleep. I kind of abruptly stopped my blogs from Colombia. My leaving was very abrupt. I think it was needed and appropriate, but now I have an aching in my soul for the country I fell so deeply in love with. The only way I know how to deal with this issue is to write for the sake of writing. It makes me feel good. I like to contribute something even if no one reads it. I am now going to use my blog for more than just a discussion about Colombia, but since I am starting anew, I feel the need to return to where things began and ended.

Oh yeah, and that dude above is Gustav Flaubert. I've been feeling a connection with him lately.

I mentioned earlier my longing for Colombia, but I do not feel as if I am giving an adequate description of what my true emotions are. I will make an attempt to explain this, though I do not think I will do a very good job.

I think that everyone has been through at least one really horrible break up in their lives. People call it a broken heart. But honestly, when I went through my first real "break-up" the pain was not inside of my heart. I could literally feel the pain behind my heart and between my ribs. Oh, how it lingered for months on end. I thought it would never go away. The yearning I had for this person seemed to have no end (It should be noted that I do not feel like this any longer). I personally do not feel like I am crazy (though some may argue this point), but I was very young and very much in love.

This is the only thing I know how to equate my longing for Colombia. I do not want to call it a bad break-up, but the torment feels just the same. It does not feel endless. It comes in spurts. Sometimes I wake up missing Colombia and I haven't the slightest clue why. Maybe it was a dream or something from my subconscious peeking out. Sometimes I will see a breathtaking landscape and that place behind my heart will begin to throb.

I know that the pangs occur mostly when I help customers who cannot speak English. I know how they feel. I can relate to that insecurity, to that fear, to that emptiness that is caused by the feelings of no one understanding a word you have to say. I have been in that persons place before. It is terrifying, exciting, and in an odd way determined. (I felt determined because I was going through all of these emotions and controlling them and acting like an adult all at the same time. I was doing something all on my own.)

Back to my customers; I love to see the look in their eye when I speak Spanish with them. They seem so shocked. I know that feeling! That connection with someone you have never even met! It meant the world to me when someone would attempt to speak English. I knew that person was trying hard to make me feel like a part of them, to make me feel like I belong.

I hope that I make them feel that way too. So many people barely say a word to them because they fear the language barrier. I revel in it. It reminds me of Colombia. It reminds me of a place where I felt I didn't belong, but realized, in the end, it was exactly where I was supposed to be.

My customers make me miss Colombia so often that I often feel like selling everything I own, packing up my cats (because I'm not leaving them behind), and moving back. This is when the ache lasts and hurts the most. I hope that my customers know how grateful I am for their willingness to interact with me. I think I am more grateful than they will ever truly realize.

I want to go back. The time honored excuse of having no money or time is the problem. I also refuse to leave my cats again. Where I go they go! I'm not so sure how they will feel about our move, but I can't leave without them J

I keep hoping that I won't feel the longing, and that each time will be the last. Deep inside I know that it won't be. I know I have not completely explained this emotion to you, but I think I've done the best that I can. I'm beginning to believe that the reason my ache keeps returning is because it's part of my soul that, mistakenly, I left behind. My ache is my body's way of saying that it needs it back. I pray that God will find a way for me to return so that I can at least retrieve that part of my soul, or maybe He wants me to leave a little more of it behind. I would not be surprised if that were the case because his sense of humor amazes me.